>
“What’s the message?”
<
* * *
Bu’urb
Cesa Region
Kr’et’Socae studied Chinayl’s plan, a glass of tepid water from the moon’s inner reservoirs in his hand. Occasionally, he glanced at the slightly fizzing water and frowned. The distinctive yellow color was a byproduct of the reservoir, although the water was perfectly safe to drink, or so he’d been assured. A ball of ice that lasted an hour on the surface of a star stood a better chance of consumption. The water’s color reminded him of Human beer, and he could not bring himself to try it. He set the glass aside for the fourth time in an hour and turned to his subordinate unit commanders. He looked over the group with keen eyes and years of experience. Despite being a combination of mercenaries, security professionals, and rank amateurs, they looked good in Chinayl’s files and initial reports. MinSha field commanders were ruthless in their battlefield leadership and their administrative control of their forces. True to her pedigree, Chinayl prepared lengthy, detailed efficiency reports on her underlings. While entertaining and informative, Kr’et’Socae bypassed them to search the file system, looking for the plan Chinayl intended. An attack on Victoria Bravo had not been formulated. While surprising, it was a good omen. Chinayl’s assembled forces were scattered and distended. With little effort spared to bring them together, they presented a challenge and an opportunity. Without a plan, and without a reason for their assemblage, the mercenaries would be antsy—ready to leave. The conditioned, traditional soldiers would be bored and ready for change. None of them would want to listen.
Kr’et’Socae curled one side of his long mouth under in a smirk. As an Enforcer candidate, he’d learned everyone will listen. Everyone will break. All things had a price, and whether that price was credits or blood, he could get what he wanted. First and foremost, he wanted the credits necessary to stay ahead of the Peacemakers. He tapped his slate, and a progress meter slid forward to ten percent. The elSha encryption on Chinayl’s personal slate would be broken and her accounts, secrets, and critical data would be his. It was only a matter of time. Of his resources, time was the most perishable and the most precious. Yet without forces, he could not even consider the unexpected plan forming in his brain. The skills to command a combat force were not something he possessed, and yet the opportunity to do just that intrigued the former Peacemaker.
A Peacemaker must be ready for anything.
The voice of Hr’ent, his instructor, growled inside his head. The older Oogar Peacemaker unrelentingly pushed him through his Enforcer training. From the moment the physiological modifications and improvements took hold, the giant purple asshole sank his claws into Kr’et’Socae’s back and drove him.
An Enforcer, though, must be ready to do anything. Especially the unspeakable.
The Equiri nodded to himself. Aware of beings gathering in the command center, he rose to his full height and adjusted the ammunition belts over his shoulders and the load bearing suspenders and belt he wore. The new gear did not fit quite right, unlike his load bearing equipment that was in a personal effects locker in the prison on Kleve. He’d spent three sleepless nights trying to figure out how to get to the storage area to get it during his escape attempt. Trust wasn’t something easily earned or purchased at a gear store. Fingering the straps over his shoulders, his back turned to the gathering crowd of commanders and operations officers from the various units under Chinayl’s loose command, Kr’et’Socae pondered trust. It had been years since he trusted anyone implicitly. The trust he’d given was betrayed by the Peacemaker tribunal when they’d tried him and sent him to prison for life without parole. They’d known he was innocent. They didn’t believe he’d had no choice but to order the—
“Sir?”
Kr’et’Socae looked up into the expectant face of his longtime aide and accomplice. The bronze Equiri was a full head shorter than Kr’et’Socae, with a white diamond blaze on his forehead. From their youth, they’d been friends and business associates. Enforcer duty hadn’t kept him from maintaining his friendship with Thraff, despite the Peacemaker Guild’s view on having one of their best and brightest being close friends with a known grifter and confidence artist. When he’d gone to prison, he’d known his friend would look out for him from the outside. When Kr’et’Socae escaped in a howling tropical storm, only one other sane being was there to find him.
“What is it, Thraff?”
“Your mission is complete.”
A statement, not a question. Kr’et’Socae set aside the yellow, fizzing water and stared at his friend. “You want to know why I’m still here. Why I’m thinking about assuming Chinayl’s mission.”
“Your fee from Peepo is not enough?”
“Not when there’s more to be made,” Kr’et’Socae said.
Thraff lowered his voice. “You think this force can help you take out the Peacemakers?”
Kr’et’Socae laughed but not loudly enough for the sound to travel. “Of course not. This isn’t about my former guild. They are very little threat to anyone.”
“Then why assume Chinayl’s mission?”
Kr’et’Socae tapped his slate and pulled up a document copied from Chinayl’s unprotected files. He scrolled through the file quickly, found the relevant clause, and showed it to Thraff. “This is why.”
Thraff read the document. Kr’et’Socae watched his friend’s eyes darting through the text, then saw a shocked, happy smile appear. “The Mercenary Guild allows things like that on their contracts?”
“Apparently.” Kr’et’Socae shook his head and snorted. “Though I’d imagine Chinayl snuck a rider into a Mercenary Guild boilerplate contract. I’m sure it’s not the first time it happened, but it’s likely one of the reasons Peepo wanted her dead.”
“Ten million reasons.” Thraff chuckled. “But the rider expires in what? Thirty days?”
“Yes,” Kr’et’Socae replied. The plan had come together in his mind over the last few moments. Attacking Victoria Bravo wasn’t really what he wanted to do, but with the size of Chinayl’s forces, over 6,000 troops with armor, artillery, and multiple ships to support them, the idea gave him pause. Chinayl’s other mission, the one she’d taken on her own, intrigued him more. She wanted to find something that couldn’t be found. Kr’et’Socae didn’t know much about James Francis and Intergalactic Haulers, but that didn’t matter. Francis was a Human and Humans were easy to find. His mind sought a way to do both missions. Maybe tie them up in a nice, neat little package for Peepo, so he could make enough credits to fade away. He blinked and finished his thought. “I’ve seen thousands of contracts like this, but never one agreed to by a Guild Master. Ninety-day guarantee clause? Granting additional credits if the Human threat on Victoria Bravo is completely eradicated? I can’t believe Peepo agreed to this. More likely, she didn’t know about the added clause and signed the contract to be rid of Chinayl.”
“Or she believed the Humans would kill Chinayl.” Thraff said. “She was almost correct. But why would Chinayl want to go back? The credits alone could not be a reason.”
Kr’et’Socae nodded. “Pride. Chinayl failed. The highest ranking MinSha in the Mercenary Guild didn’t get there without a significant dose of pride. She took the loss personally and wanted the chance to fix it. How she arranged the contract, we may never know, but the rider is in place. Chinayl’s command associate is Regaa. As long as Regaa is involved in the mission to take Victoria Bravo, we have a stake in that rider.”
Thraff said nothing for a moment, but Kr’et’Socae knew his friend had pieced it together. Regaa was the legal tie to the contract’s rider. Chinayl stipulated herself or those under her command. In the standard language of the contract, near the front, was the succession clause that stated rightful claim to any reward could be claimed by a surviving subordinate in the event of the contractor’s death. Kr’et’Socae had clearly killed Chinayl, but the MinSha commander’s executive off
icer was still alive.
“You think Regaa knows about the clause?”
“No,” Kr’et’Socae smirked. “She’s doubtlessly wondering why we’ve kept her alive.”
Thraff’s eyes brightened. “Studying the files is a ploy to get her to believe you see worth in her staying with the unit.”
“In some ways.” The dark Equiri smiled. “I want to see what she proposes. Having all of these mercenaries under one roof without a viable target or mission is bound to get interesting very soon.”
He knew the mercenaries were already wondering what had happened to Chinayl. The call for all commanders to assemble for a mission briefing broke from MinSha protocols. Curiosity would have them keyed up. Their anxiety could be used against them. Given the right moment, the right aspect of fear or uncertainty could lead them immediately into a new commander’s hand. Kr’et’Socae checked his wrist slate.
“You know what to do?”
Thraff nodded. “Your instructions were clear.”
Kr’et’Socae nodded and stood. He turned to the assembled commanders and officers, and their murmured conversations ceased in an instant. As they looked at him, the disgraced Equiri saw recognition in a few of their eyes. At least one Cochkala said his name in a shocked, scared squeak. Sensing their anxiety turn to uncertainty was intoxicating. He stepped toward them, his hoofed feet clomping on the metal grating of the temporary command structure. Regaa stood off to one side, her forearms crossed in an attempt to look defiant. The MinSha’s twitching antennae said differently.
“Regaa?” he said softly. “A word, if you please?”
The MinSha stepped forward on her four rear legs and crossed the distance quickly. “Yes, Honored Kr’et’Socae?”
Good. You’ve realized who I am and what you’re dealing with. That will make this easier.
He stared at her impassive compound eyes for a long moment. “Are you aware of the contract General Chinayl signed with the Mercenary Guild?”
“I am not,” the MinSha replied slowly. “She told me we were under orders.”
He almost smiled. Anger was a worthy tool. “You were not under orders from the Mercenary Guild. Chinayl signed a contract to eradicate Human settlements. The contract is worth five million credits. Half is yours if you agree to command the assault against Victoria Bravo.”
The MinSha cocked her head at him. “I have another option? I doubt you will let me leave here, as you have a price on your head.”
He thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s true.”
“You seek my agreement to command the assault?” Regaa asked. Her voice was low and sharp. A mercenary seeks opportunities to lead. A successful mercenary seeks opportunities to make as much money as possible. He could tell she had chosen the latter. “That two point five million is mine alone?”
“Chinayl promised no one in your force payment of any type, instead relying on their loyalty to the guild and their fear of retribution. They’ve bought into a scam, Regaa. You, however, can profit where they cannot.”
“Profit does me little good if the mission fails.”
The comment took Kr’et’Socae by surprise. From his research and a little observation, he’d discerned she was a strong, capable commander. Her doubt caught him by surprise. “You believe the mission will fail?”
“Respectfully, if you follow Chinayl’s initial plans and reconnaissance, yes.” Regaa stroked her chin with her left foreclaw. “Chinayl tended toward an occupy-by-force mentality. She never considered how a committed enemy would respond to her actions. Her intentions were to deploy to Victoria Bravo and force the Humans into a fight on ground she’d already lost on. She didn’t consider what she learned from her first failure. Is that a reasonable course of action?”
Kr’et’Socae shook his head. “You would plan this assault differently?”
“If placed in command, yes.” Regaa nodded. “Payment requires victory. Victory requires a plan.”
“There is time,” Kr’et’Socae mused.
Regaa nodded. “There is also the matter of the team on Araf.”
“What about them?” Kr’et’Socae narrowed his eyes.
“There are Peacemakers involved. Directly. A Veetanho named Vannix and a Human male. His name is Jackson Rains. They have orders to search every system and bring James Francis to justice. He is the father of Jessica Francis.”
Kr’et’Socae wasn’t listening. A bolt of electricity ran down his spine.
“Jackson Rains?” Kr’et’Socae asked quietly.
Regaa, sensing an opportunity, leaned closer. “I take it you are aware of him.”
The Equiri snorted. “He nearly caught me ten months ago, and I owe him.”
“Credits?” Regaa gaped.
“No.” Kr’et’Socae shook his head. The loss was still too great to name. “I owe him pain.”
“Then what do we do about him?”
Kr’et’Socae ran through the options quickly. There existed the matter of an assault and a matter of a direct threat halfway across the galaxy. Both could be handled. One he would handle personally and return in time to oversee the assault and collect the payment. It would take time and patience, but he could lay the trap. Rains wouldn’t be the only Peacemaker who fell.
“As you said, victory ensures payment, Regaa.” Kr’et’Socae grinned evilly in the darkened control room.
“Then have your assistant stand down. You have no need to make an example of the assembled commanders. They will not draw your ire.” Regaa nodded. “They will follow me without your killing them indiscriminately, sir.”
Kr’et’Socae snorted and laughed aloud. Regaa was much more than he’d originally assumed. Whether she could be trusted was another matter, but for the moment, her insight suggested he had a chance to kill two flies with one kick. Retribution was as delicious a thought as fear and the credits to back his threats. Regaa and Thraff could plan the attack and conduct the initial moves while he saw to Rains.
Kr’et’Socae nodded solemnly to Regaa. “Then we have an excellent plan to construct, Commander. An excellent one, indeed.”
“One that will not fail.” Regaa’s antennae twitched in anticipation, and for the first time in eight years, two months, and sixteen days, Kr’et’Socae felt a twinge of the same emotion. He needed to move quickly, before the rider expired. Payment required victory.
“I’ll need one of your best lieutenants, Regaa. One who doesn’t shy away from combat.”
“Expecting resistance?” the MinSha aksed, suddenly full of confidence. “Or are you looking for revenge?”
Kr’et’Socae did not answer aloud. His thoughts were on another young Equiri, one he’d sworn his love to so many years before. The one Jackson Rains had killed when he’d come to arrest them. Saraan was not his mate, nor was she committed to another male. In a sense, she was as much his as he was hers until Rains murdered her. A measure of payback was justified.
All of them will pay. Starting with Jackson Rains. I will handle him personally.
* * * * *
Chapter Four
Altar Colony
Araf
The rusting hulk of the Raknar lay half exposed on the banks of the Choote River in the fading Araf light. Nothing about its position or condition had changed in the year since the battle. The original compound was gone. The portable buildings and tight spaces where they’d faced down the Darkness and the Wandering Death had been razed, and it gave the colony an empty feel. Barren ground remained in its place, save for a slim obsidian monument erected by the Altar commemorating the original Force 25. From the moment her strap-adorned tanker boots touched the sandy ground, her eyes remained fixed on the slender obelisk. Xander and his crew were nowhere in sight, which wasn’t unusual, and before she realized what she was doing, Tara’s feet moved her in the direction of the monument. More surprising were the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Tara hadn’t been to the monument in her several trips to the Raknar and the old mining
complex Xander had been paid to explore and seal for all eternity. Most times, he salvaged rare components for the Raknar to test with Lucille’s help aboard Victory Twelve. Two trips before, he’d emerged from the mine wearing a radiation hard suit and carrying a badly rended piece of metal. The shard, roughly the size of her hand and forearm, was all they’d been able to recover of Hex Alison’s CASPer. She’d successfully fought those tears, but the addition of the monument stabbed at her heart. Tara had avoided going there for as long as possible. As she closed the distance, she noticed GenSha prayer flags wrapped carefully around the obelisk’s base. There were several small pieces of wreckage as well, one for each of the destroyed CASPers and her tanks.
A sob erupted from her throat as she stood over the monument and let the tears cascade down her face. Knees trembling, Tara Mason knelt in the sand and reached out to touch the carefully etched letters.
Those who died to protect those who remain. We remember.
Stare Aut Cadere.
Amidst the swirling memories playing behind her closed eyelids, Tara saw the smiling faces of Kei Howl and Hex Alison. They’d fought so bravely, so purely, for something much more nebulous than a mission to secure a key person for the Peacemaker Guild. They’d understood the threat, and they’d honored it in a way few would ever understand. The remnants of their battles gone and scrubbed away by peace and prosperity, her team existed only in the memories of the citizens of Araf and the two Humans who’d somehow lived to fight another day.
Chin on her chest, Tara let the tears fall in hot streams down her cheeks and made no attempt to stop them. Her hurt transcended the feeling of loss, raising the familiar, dreadful question of why she’d been allowed to survive when the others had perished. The dread turned slowly to recognition that she, too, would have died on the battlefield except for the quick actions of Jessica Francis and Bukk. By stabilizing and sedating her, they’d saved her life. Her tears stopped. Survival hadn’t been easy. She’d wished for death a few times. By then, though, Araf had been far away.
Deathangel Page 4
